Ruler of the House
by KayosHybrid
Summary: Germany is at war, but Ludwig has noticed a sinister presence of his home. It is a presence by his own invitation. GermanyCentric, selfcest, Chptr 2 rated M for explicit themes.
1. He comes

This had originally been a response to the 'nazi!GermanyxGermany' prompt on the hetalia kink meme, and I shamelessly borrowed his ingenious name from a drabble that was already there. All the responses already there were my inspiraton. It's made up of two sections, the second half being higher rated. So if you don't want to read yaoi you can avoid the next chapter but still get a taste for it here.

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Ruler of the House

Ludwig repeated to himself everyday that it was for the good of the Fatherland. He believed it too; it made his chest swell with pride and prompted a niggling rage at that bastard, Francis. He repeated it to himself every time he felt a slowly descending feeling, like his stomach was falling and his body was going to go down with it. He repeated that it was for glory, retribution and freedom, and all the other great things to be achieved by this expansion; by the policies put into place.

But these same expansions and policies were what had transformed Ludwig in a way he hadn't foreseen. While Germany was at war, feeling all the things familiar and rushing and painful to him, Ludwig remained anxious in his own home. It was not freedom, Ludwig thought, that made him stand by the front window, one hand either preoccupied with clutching a curtain or the window sill, worrying if the neighbours were watching each time he left the house to do some less constrictive activities. It had been imposed quite plainly that leisurely trips with Feliciano weren't permitted anymore, and the Italian's visits were out of his control now.

Paranoid of the neighbours and worried to displease, Ludwig remained inside most of his time, a prisoner in his own home – practically on curfew.

Ludwig put down the book that he had long forgotten, muted thoughts wandering far away from its pages. He settled it gently in his lap, looking around his study. It was by far his last sanctuary, not including the increased gaps in his shelves, the contents of which lay as a pile of ashes in his fireplace. Over time the larger gaps were purposely filled back up with more suitable texts. Not wanting to pervert his last room of solace with anymore tainted thoughts, Ludwig placed the book on a side table and went downstairs to the kitchen.

So much time had passed, and Ludwig was aching. His lack of money for himself had left his kitchen quite spare, many of the luxuries he enjoyed he could not afford. He absentmindedly checked through the draws for the things he needed to make dinner with.

Dinner wasn't a hassle; he burnt his finger on the frying pan from his mind drifting off but it was reasonably uneventful. The systematic process of measurements and times gave him something to focus on, something he enjoyed more thoroughly when he was baking and making back in his free time. The quiet in his kitchen was more enjoyable when it was rare; when he had to fight to fit in some leisure time to himself around Gilbert's Gilbert-rampages around the house that always caused complete disarray to his lovely home, and Feliciano's sudden visits that often did the same thing but also went reasonably unpunished in the end. But this quiet, this silence, was unnerving, and his loneliness was an unwelcome respite to when he actually had a guest.

Only a quarter of a way through his meal Ludwig heard the familiar sound of his front gate, and the damp, sharp sound of boots on wet slate and stone. Knowing exactly who was advancing up his path, this late at in the evening and in the rain, Ludwig swallowed and carefully placed his utensils down on the table. Estimating he wouldn't have enough time or energy to put his meal in the fridge or the bin to hide its presence from malicious eyes, Ludwig stood. His kitchen didn't immediately show it, but the scratches on the walls and the irreparable scuffs on his wooden tabletop revealed the many-a-meal backhanded off the table, at him or at the wall. Best just leave it here than be caught with it, and in a room with so many easily-made-vicious tools.

"Ludwig..."

The call came from behind the front door down the hall. Germany felt a chill and a weariness settle in as he went in the other direction, out the back of the kitchen to get to the stairs. He knew better than to actually let the fiend in himself.

Ludwig knew why He was here but he still hoped to avoid a confrontation. He heard the front door open just as he started on the stairs, feeling his heart leap and struggling to pick up the pace while still keeping very quiet and not panicked. And even when Ludwig was growing aflame with adrenaline from his fight or flight instinct, he was surprised by just how weak he felt. The climb up the stairs was a struggle, like he was underwater or in a dream and he was trying to run but he couldn't.

He reached the upstairs corridor just as he heard the steady footfalls wander through the kitchen, and the sound of a metal utensil being picked up and placed back down. He clutched the corner to muster up some strength, feeling some bursts of pain in his chest that may or may not have been from a rising panic, before briskly and smoothly moving down the corridor.

The entire hall was adorned with canvases and paintings. Ludwig had always been pleasantly envious of Feliciano's expressiveness and artistic prowess, and since his new boss he'd tried it out for himself. He discovered it was just as time consuming and physical as building something, except it was layers of materials and paint on a canvas. He had been secretly very proud of his work, slightly embarrassed when Feliciano came around and saw them and insisted he put them on display. Ever since his new boss, stress and lack of money made him doubly frustrated, and he started making darker paintings. A few years ago he had even been daring enough, breaking his protocol-rationalised mind in a fit of anger, and created some very displeasing, disloyal work.

Now the hall was a mix-match of huge rectangular spaces where the paint was a different shade from being confiscated, many canvases burnt with cigarettes and controlled fires and some even shot at for sport. When He, Heinrich, had found his stash of anti-Heinrich material, he had been punished severely. Ludwig hurried along past the destroyed display in his corridor. He could still feel the welts on the back of his legs, arms and his torso from the vicious caning he got in return. He normally moved so slowly around the house that he could ignore his skin stretching them when he moved, and Ludwig winced as he moved to his bedroom.

The sound of boots treading steadily and unhurried at the foot of his stairs.

Their stairs.

This was a shared house now.

Ludwig continued to avoid the predator at his heels, convinced that if he moved himself out of the way then the danger would recede. Even if he was given the chance he wouldn't be able to explain why today felt different. Heinrich often saw fit to leisurely wander around to find him, even if just to make sure he was still loyal and behaving correctly. Other times he would come and find him immediately, seized by a sense of haste brought on by fury or a tip off or just a carnal frustration. Neither of them could possibly be worse than each other. But whenever Heinrich came to this house it was to personally confront Ludwig, so any tactical retreat was rather pointless.

So why was he still forcing himself to move towards his bedroom, a place that was by no means a sanctuary; sparse and _enough_ for a military man such as himself. Most of the rooms felt empty now anyway from all the things Heinrich saw fit to confiscate.

Maybe this feeling of weakness, something he despised but felt too far away to really register. A feeling that prompted him to keep moving anyway until there wasn't anywhere to go, a bursting in his chest that could easily have just been mounting anxiety.

Ludwig decided it was because he had been doing so badly recently. The lack of money, the defeats over the border and under his own roof. He worried that one of the Allies would come knocking, and surprised himself by deciding they were worse than Heinrich.

Was Heinrich here because they were running out of time?

Ludwig slipped into his room and closed the door behind him, facing it and keeping his palms on the wood as if it would keep it there.

Was it nearly the end?

He can feel more than hear Heinrich advancing up the hall, and moved reluctantly away from the door - head filled with frantic shouts, explosions and a ruined city and - supposed it just might be.

As he moves to his bed, he's suddenly in a bunker, his world being shaken by shelling up above, making the little light bulb up ahead swing and rattle. Its glow casts a cynical dusting of light on the spare, wooden, earthy office, but then the lighting is brighter and the surfaces are better quality wood and metal, and the shelling seems further away. Still this claustrophobic sense of being trapped underground, and there's a Luger on the desk.

Ludwig can feel himself getting a headache, so he shakes off the daydream and lies down, an arm thrown over his eyes even though he didn't turn on the light.

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I hope you enjoyed, and if you did feel free to to review!  
_*If anyone was annoyed by the long sentences, that's a deliberate thing.  
__I purposefully make the sentences long and garbling if the main character is not really that coherent._


	2. He goes

**ACHTUNG:** This chapter contains explicit adult themes and some mention of sensitive material.

Enjoy!

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In the darkness the sound of His leisurely gait is punctuated and acute, deliberate steps that Ludwig can feel strumming through his skin. There is no knock because privacy is laughable and abstract, the handle turns and as the black wedge is opened a blade of yellow strikes across his stomach and elongates down his bottom half as the door is pushed fully ajar.

There is a little plastic snap, and the edges around his arm glow with yellow too, and he knows he can't hide behind it anymore.

The room is lit by a warm, rustic glow that traditionally suited every room of his – their – house. It isn't bright enough to be blinding and so Ludwig's eyes are open and can see him clearly in the doorway. He sits up, suddenly uncomfortable lying on the bed.

"Heinrich..."

"Good evening, Ludwig."

Theres another burst in his chest, and even while Heinrich looks characteristically calm and gathered, Ludwig notices he's rough around the edges. Whether it be his cap leaning a little too far to the left, one cuff of his uniform looks scuffled. It isn't like Heinrich to turn up without looking faultless. And by the one crease on his brow, he's concerned about something.

But despite these disconcerting signs, hearing his voice seemed to dispell all the passive aggressiveness from his body, and the fight is back in him. His hands grip at the covers as he prepares to launch himself forward, only for Heinrich to pick up on it far quicker and to be on him in a moment. They wrestled horizontally on the covers, Ludwig trying to wrench himself free and Heinrich struggled him back against the mattress, chuckling wholeheartedly when Ludwig cried out in frustration.

The battle is over in moments, and Ludwig had been twisted back to lying on the mattress, out of breath and hating himself for being overpowered so easily, pinned down by a hand on his throat and one on his hip. Ludwig could feel his willpower sinking away again, this situation all too familiar, barely even reacting when a leather bound hand grappled with his belt and slid his pants from his body.

Far far away Ludwig is angry that he should put up more of a fight and that he's weak, despite his overwhelming distance from the reality that feels like he's on drugs. But suddenly there's a tongue on his neck and he cringes at the acute sensation, a gasp pushed back into his mouth as hands force his face upwards and he's being kissed forcefully. His hands wrestle with Heinrich's jacket, not to remove _it_ but _him_, but there's no strength behind it. Heinrich moves away, matching hair only slightly disturbed, Ludwig feeling a tiny speck of satisfaction that he'd knocked away his cap. Heinrich hitches up Ludwig's bare hips against his own, distracting Ludwig with the pressure, and his vest is peeled from him without resistance.

They're both hard.

Realising too late he had been undressed, Ludwig struck out hopelessly but then there are fingers probing inside him and he arches in discomfort. He's being worked more impatiently than he's used to. But as soon as the tips of those lubricated fingers grazed a certain spot Ludwig groaned and jumped, staring intensely at Heinrich's predatory expression, at his scarily uncanny, perfected features.

Now Ludwig can't feel anything but the fingers working him enthusiastically deep on the inside, and he curls his spine towards them, starting to pant. He can't help it now, having done this so many times before, beads of sweat breaking out of his body as a hand goes to his erection and works that too, and he can feel treacherous impatience prickle his flushed skin.

Heinrich's manipulative, enthuastic hand worked him into a feverish state, garbling nonsense and making noises he tried his damnest to constrict. Much to his relief and anxiety the writhing fingers slipped free of his ass, only to feel something else press there deliberately. Hands go to under his knees and hold his taut thighs against his stomach, fully exposed, and then Heinrich pushed and buried himself deep inside him, barely giving his twin a moment to adjust before rearing back and thrusting again and again.

Ludwig buried his face into the pillow under his head, making odd noises with a confused mouth as his mind disbanded to shameful pleasure . He threw his arm over his face to try and hide what must've been a far too willing expression. Then he heard Him laugh and he seethed, swinging that arm out again with conviction a good slug in the side of the head could give him a good opening to r—

Heinrich slammed inside him hard, jolting his entire body and causing him to arch his back against the mattress, throwing his head back, gripping tight handfuls of the sheets ,almost painfully crying out '—Heinrich!' and Ludwig was lost to the world.

Time became a slush of thrusts; what may have been a few minutes felt like hours. Eventually Heinrich decided he had had enough of holding his legs that way and let them drop to hang over his hips, contining to slam away lecherously at Ludwig's gripping entrance while one free hand went to his cock. Heinrich propped them up properly and Ludwig was able to clearly see with his chin digging against his chest the wrong and erotic sight of Heinrich repeatingly forcing inside him — watching Him roughly wanking him off — with a glazed look, a line of drool from his open mouth on his chin.

Ludwig barely prepared himself for the surreal feeling of Heinrich half pulling out, turning Ludwig over onto hands and knees , feeling the invasive, huge mass that was his cock drill slowly inside him. Ludwig gasped His name urgently when Heinrich drove back inside, a hand gripping the back of his head by his hair and grinding his face into his pillow, spanking him sharply before fucking him at an angle that prompted groans and '_haa_'s cried at every jolt. Ludwig only gasped plees and began to unintentionally wet his pillow with drool and his tongue, cries of encouragement intensifying when a hand went back to roughly jerk him off again.

Heinrich kept adjusting their position, always tugging Ludwig away from a near orgasmic state, drowning his grunts and whines of frustration by fucking him harder in the new one. They even ended up not on the bed entirely, but fucking on the floor like dogs. He barely recalled bouncing on top of him at some point, having been coaxed to do some of the work despite everything because it felt good. He even took charge of his own masturbation when he was ordered to.

It was when Heinrich pulled free and actually stood up did Ludwig really look up, trembling and painfully hard, remembering how much his entire body ached from the slamming and hitting and rough treatment. Heinrich looked down at him, at his messed up hair, big watery eyes, cheeks glistening from some of the most intensely pleasurable or uncomfortable thrusts, panting heavily with his mouth open and drool on his chin. Heinrich visibly twitched at such a desirable appearance. He'd had another position idea, but seeing him like that made it too hard to resist. Ludwig was clearly now mindless from the pleasure and treatment that a worried, needy expression was working its way onto his face.

Heinrich leant down with a smirk, chest heaving with his own exertion, coaxing Ludwig up onto his knees by his jaw and hair and thrusting his hips forward to pointedly gesture his slick erection now infront of his face. His mindless Ludwig needed no more prompts, but had only halfway taken him into his mouth before Heinrich gripped his hair and thrust inside all the way, beginning to fuck it. Ludwig panicked and gripped at Heinrich's thighs when he kept being choked, crushing his eyes closed from fresh tears caused by the gag reflex, but he no longer cared. He let himself get choked, his head tugged about and drowned himself in Heinrich, everything melting together to be pleasure anyhow.

"Touch yourself." Heinrich purrs, words curling amd husky.

Ludwig does.

Quickly Heinrich becomes bored with this too and releases him, leaving him coughing and gasping for clearer mouthfuls of breath than the occasional opportunity to resurface. While he recuperated, Heinrich kicked sharply at his wrist to warn him not to masturbate anymore, and he reluctantly uncurls his grip. He's trembling again, taut and sweating all over, his ass feeling empty and throbbing with need. He's so close and the pleasure has stopped. He calls out to him desperately for some sort of response, vision blurry from water he's still trying to blink away.

Arms grip his and he's pulled shakily to his feet, legs trembling to support his worn out body, welts on his legs and his back shining in the soft light of his room. This movement that isn't blinded by pleasure reminds him how rough he's been treated and how much discomfort he's in because of them, and because he's already been watering up all he can do is choke out pitifully, hanging on as if for dear life instead of just the support to stand.

He hears Him chuckle and a hand touches to his head, almost in a gesture of comfort, but it must be perverse. Before he can say anything else Heinrich has directed his arms around His neck, and he's murmuring something. _This will feel the best and hit deeper_. His voice sounds urgent and Ludwig doesn't delay, feeling hands on his thighs lifting him up and sinking back up inside him again. He's surprised by Heinrich dropped his grip on his thighs to his knees, letting his body fall enough so he's hanging and holding onto Him precariously. Instead of bouncing him there using his weight, Heinrich used gravity and momentum to fuck his hanging body, the power of his thrusts swinging his hips away before dropping harshly back. Ludwig immediately moaned 'uh-uh-_uh_-'s each time his cock bumps roughly up inside him and he sinks back into violent ecstacy.

While he watched Heinrich's face, clenched with effort and his own deviant pleasure, Ludwig thought back to when Heinrich had first turned up on his doorstep, charismatic and immaculate in his uniform. He helped him gather the courage to go back to war, to get back at that bastard France, to make him feel proud again. He started getting curious bursting pains in his fingers that he couldn't diagnose. He remembered sharing his home with Heinrich many a day, each day growing inexplicably uncomfortable with him. How Heinrich seemed to be becoming something Ludwig didn't quite know how to cope with. Feeling as lost and confused as a child when Heinrich turned on him.

Ludwig thought of his precious books lying as ashes in his fireplace. His cold meal sitting on his table waiting to be thrown violently at him. His paintings burnt and riddled with bulletholes. The tender marks littered down his back and legs. Feliciano's smile that he couldn't quite picture anymore.

Suddenly his was invaded by the sight of shelling in his capital, the dying lying crippled within the debris – obscene acts from his memory – scenes from his special magazines, even those not even legal obligated to be there. Ludwig choked and blinked furiously to rid of them in horror, his noise escalating in volume as Heinrich fucked him harder and harder, laughing.

"They're _burning_ right now."

Ludwig half registers what he means, and his innards clench in otherworldly agony at his words. Unable to control himself, he sobs in torment. Despite everything, he's close.

Heinrich sees them too.

"Oh, look at all that! Little Ludwig, you sick puppy. Is all that filth going to make you come?"

Ludwig bubbled up, crying wholeheartedly through his pleasured panting and cramping chest, hands white-knuckled as he gripped desperately at Heinrich's neck, and uncontrollaby he shrieked

"Y-YES-!!"

Heinrich didn't stop as Ludwig clenched up and emptied himself pitifully over his stomach, coming deep inside him almost straight afterwards, laughing. There was a deep pain in his temple, then all he saw was white.

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Ludwig's chest heaved, rising and falling in exhausted pants as the blank bliss receded from his mind. His mindseye now back to darkness, he slowly peeled salty eyelids to reveal his ceiling. His cheeks feel tight and damp from a layer of tears, and the only sign left of Heinrich was the black cap on his dresser. Heinrich, himself, was gone.

Ludwig groaned, shifting on the mattress, oiled fingers slipping from inside himself, sliding out a phallic instrument with it. The hand working at his softening erection slows to nothing, and he gazes down exhausted, numb, at the shine on the both of his hands. The semen on his stomach. His body feels sated, but Ludwig is far away from such contentment. He lets his head drop back onto his pillow and his face constricts in shame.

The objects Heinrich had used on him were in a cardboard box under his bed. The acts they had played in inspired by the special magazines hidden in his dresser. He dropped hands from his panting body and despaired.

The Allies had found him like that. In hours he had hardly shifted, and when Arthur, Francis and Ivan, led curiously by Alfred, kicked down the door, Ludwig hadn't the strength to explain. He had finally been cornered, and Ludwig looked away when they gazed at what he had done to himself, welts and all, in disgust. He couldn't even express his relief when Feliciano hadn't come, despite everything.

He dressed and was led downstairs for interrogation while the Allies broadcasted their victory, glancing sideways at the immaculate peaked cap on his dresser. Instead of feeling contempt and freedom, Ludwig could only think, as he was led away, that Heinrich should have saved him.

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Don't want to break the mood, but if you enjoyed, please review!


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